


For What It's Worth

by Nyessa



Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Forgiveness, Post-Game, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyessa/pseuds/Nyessa
Summary: Years after Isabela runs away from Kirkwall with the Tome of Koslun, Imogen Hawke catches up to her in Denerim to settle some unfinished business.





	

The pirate sashayed across the crowded tavern—there was no other way to describe the way she moved, all swaying hips and cat-like purpose, bottle of ale swinging from one hand. She approached her target with predatory focus, eyes only on him as she reached the table where the elf sat.

He was certainly conspicuous, even in a place like this where more than half of the patrons bore visible tattoos, and most of the rest had them somewhere under their clothes. His were of a different nature than the rest, however; bluish-white lines swirled across the skin of his arms and neck, disappearing into his sleeveless tunic with the promise of more underneath. They would have attracted attention even if his white hair didn't, and he had already turned away several others seeking his company.

This woman, however, he did not turn away. He said nothing when she came up next to him but looked up with the barest hint of a smile.

“Well, well,” Isabela said. “It _has_ been a long time. What brings you to this corner of the world? Here to join my crew at last?”

She hooked her foot around the leg of a nearby chair and pulled it up closer to his before sitting down and snaking an arm around his shoulder. Leaning in, she murmured something in his ear too low for anyone else to hear.

Fenris pulled back just enough to look her in the eye and spoke in a voice that carried further: “Look behind you.”

Isabela turned her head, more slowly than would have been expected for a rogue of her caliber. Perhaps she guessed from his tone that speed would not be the thing that saved her. Her eyes met and locked onto those of the person who had come silently upon her.

Imogen Hawke smiled, one hand on her hip and the other on the collar of the mabari hound at her side. “Four years, by my reckoning. And I see you're still alive and kicking, not that I ever had any cause to doubt.”

She slipped around them to Fenris's other side and let her hand rest possessively on his shoulder, a hair's breadth away from where Isabela's hand still sat. Hawke bent to lower her face near his, lifted an eyebrow and, when he smiled in assent, kissed him.

When Hawke came up, Isabela was slumped back in her chair, an odd look on her face. It wasn't because of the kiss—anyone who knew her would know better than that. She lifted her bottle, drank, and when the bottle dropped back down, her expression had hardened into a speculative frown.

Hawke brought a chair around, not quite as close to Fenris as Isabela's, and sat at an angle that allowed her to look the pirate in the eyes. Pretty settled at her feet, his bulk fitting only halfway under the table.

“How did you find me?” Isabela asked.

“How do you think?” Hawke shrugged. “Varric's been with us since we left Kirkwall. He got word from you, and we just tagged along.”

Isabela muttered a curse that would have made the dwarf proud of her creative choice of words. Then she said, “Maybe I need to be more careful in how I choose my bloody friends.”

“That's a lesson many of us could stand to learn.” Hawke raised an eyebrow and leaned on the table. “Speaking of friends, I hear you've got some in high places. Seems you're working for _the_ most legitimate employer in Ferelden. An old friend of yours, as I understand it?”

“It's more his mistress who's the friend, actually.” Isabela seemed to relax just a little. “The Warden-Commander cheats at cards. Is that a trait in common with all dwarves?”

“Maybe it's just in common with all of your friends.”

“Or that. Anyway, sweet Brosca's the one who recommended me for the job, and why I contacted our mutual friend.” She took another drink and set the bottle on the table. “Is that why you're here? You want in on it?”

She sounded so hopeful—beneath the layers of cynicism—that Hawke smiled. “I'm afraid I have to decline. I've never suffered from seasickness, but everything's been making me sick lately.”

One hand strayed to her abdomen, and Fenris caught the other between his fingers. Isabela did not fail to notice the motion, for her gaze sharpened on Hawke's midsection just a moment before her mouth formed first a little “o” and then a wide grin.

“Fenris, you dog.” She punched him in the shoulder. “So, are you going to name the little one after me, then? Make me godmother?”

“Maker forbid.” Fenris, finally goaded into saying something, grimaced.

Hawke tossed her head back in a laugh. “Sorry, position's taken. Sebastian will bring all the armies of Starkhaven down upon us if we don't let him have a hand in the nug's religious upbringing, and Bethy's threats are even more deadly. They make a good team. As far as names, we're thinking Lea or Mal, but we're not settled yet.”

“Good enough names. If a bit _boring.”_ Isabela wrapped the fingers of both hands around her bottle. “So if you're not here about the job, and you're not here about the baby, what is it? Revenge, I suppose?”

“You left Kirkwall to burn at Qunari hands,” Fenris reminded her in a growl. “Hawke almost died to stop them.”

She shifted in her chair but made no obvious move to reach for any of the places where Hawke suspected her to store weapons on her person.

“Yes, I left, and I won't apologize for it.” She glared at Fenris. “It wasn't my job to risk my neck for a city that didn't give a fuck about me.”

“It wasn't my job either.” Hawke reached with her left hand for a pouch on her belt, and Isabela stiffened, but she only pulled out two items: a small, square box and a letter. She set both on the table in front of her. “But you're mistaken. If you recall, you've already apologized.”

She tapped the letter with one finger. The paper bore wrinkles from when it had once been crumpled into a ball, but now it was neatly folded and bore the name “Hawke” in Isabela's sloppy handwriting.

“You left Kirkwall to burn,” she said, echoing Fenris. “Maybe you didn't trust me enough to follow through on my promise. Maybe you didn't believe I could. Either way, that was my failing.”

“ _Your_ failing.” Isabela gave her a flat, disbelieving look. “Anyone would say I betrayed you. And you're not a forgiving woman.”

“Maybe I didn't use to be. You left Kirkwall to burn,” Hawke repeated. “And innocent people died because of it, died when a different choice could have saved...some of them."

Isabela waited.

“The time for justification has passed—I've heard too much of that for a lifetime. You left Kirkwall to burn,” Hawke said one last time. “But there are worse betrayals than running away to protect yourself.” Fenris squeezed her right hand, and she gave him a little smile before returning her attention to the pirate queen. “Given that you're still alive, I take it you solved your problem with Castillon.”

“I settled the debt.” Isabela gave a little shrug. “And then I settled him, soon as I got the chance.”

“Good. I would have liked to see that in person, but the important thing is that you're in one piece.” Hawke moved her left hand to the top of the box and slid it across the table. “Otherwise, it would have been very hard to give you this.”

Isabela stared at the box for a long time before moving. Eventually, she unwrapped her fingers from her bottle and lifted the lid with the caution of someone disarming a trap. Then she stared again before saying, “These were Leandra's.”

The box contained a pair of small gold earrings set with sapphires.

Hawke nodded. “The real reason I'm here. Mother saw you notice them at one of those Hightown parties you weren't actually invited to, so she hid them away in a _very_ safe place. Took me ages to find them.” She offered the pirate a smile laced with sadness. “You know, after getting the estate back in order, she was diligent about keeping her will up to date. She made a point of writing in most of my friends—just tokens, really. Little things. But I hadn't gotten around to dealing with it before everything went to shit.”

“You came all this way just to bring me these?”

“Denerim seemed as good a place as any to run to after _I_ left Kirkwall to burn.” She gestured to the earrings. “This is your inheritance, Isabela. Mother wanted you to have them, and she would be very displeased if I cheated you out of what's rightfully yours.”

Slowly, Isabela reached to first one ear and then the other and removed the gold medallion earrings she had worn most days for as long as Hawke had known her. Then she picked up Leandra's earrings and slipped them into place.

“I am sorry, Hawke.” She put the medallion earrings into the box and shut the lid. “For what it's worth. If I had it to do all over again...well, I probably wouldn't do a single thing differently. All the same...”

Hawke nodded once. “Me too. We have to be going now, Isabela. And I understand you have an appointment with a certain dwarf.”

Fenris stood and helped Hawke to her feet. She didn't need it, not yet, but her growing pregnancy brought out all of his protective instincts, and she was content to let him cultivate that.

Isabela tipped back her chair and propped her feet up on the table. “Will the two of you be staying in town?”

“Hm. Your current employer did make me a job offer once, and it may still stand.” Hawke gave Fenris an affectionate look. “But for now, we have other considerations, and I suspect the world isn't going to slow down for our sake. Someday, perhaps.”

Isabela saluted them. “Champion. Fenris.”

“Captain.”

When they emerged into the cool evening air, Varric was waiting for them just outside the tavern door. He stood up from where he had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Well? How did it go?”

Pretty sauntered up to him and gave him a friendly sniff and wag of the tail before circling back to stand beside Hawke.

“I don't _think_ she's going to murder you for giving away her location, but I've been wrong before.”

“What a relief.” The dwarf smirked. “I suppose I'd better go find out.”

“Don't worry,” Hawke said with a grin. “No one can resist your charms for long.”

Fenris, in a rare gesture, put his hand on Varric's shoulder. “It has been good traveling with you, dwarf.”

“Don't go getting sappy and sentimental on me now, elf.” But Varric returned the gesture. “You two are really moving on, then?”

“It's time, Varric.” Hawke's smile turned a little wistful. “You've stayed with us longer than anyone else, but you have a life to get back to. And we have a life to get started.”

“I still say you should name the little nug after _me.”_

Fenris chuckled. “Perhaps we will. Though an elf-blooded child with a dwarven name strains credulity, like most of the heroes in your elaborate tales.”

“Now there's an idea I haven't used yet. I'll have to write that down.” Varric put his hand on the tavern door. “You'll take care of the elf for me, won't you, Hawke?”

“We'll take care of each other. Don't let Bianca get into too much trouble. And Varric...” Hawke's hand strayed to her abdomen again, as it always seemed to these days. “When the time comes, you'll find us?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world.”


End file.
